


Wanting

by Ladycat



Category: Kings
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-13
Updated: 2014-02-13
Packaged: 2018-01-12 05:55:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1182692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladycat/pseuds/Ladycat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one says no to the Prince.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wanting

**Author's Note:**

> Written directly after seeing the pilot episode.

I am writing a story in my head as we speak about lights that strobe until everyone's effectively blind, a way of leveling the playing field except how it doesn't at all. Everyone knows who he is. Everyone has their places, their squares of black or white under chic lounges or hip-ly uncomfortable barstools. So when a laughing boy all of sixteen, covered in glitter and promise shifts his hips under a specific spotlight, letting it gleam across his skin like a laser, drawing back a boy with fair, country hair and broad, blue country eyes so that he's effectively haloed, gilded, held out for approval. It's a market's raucous hawking set to a lush, techno beat.

And he is _pretty,_ Jack thinks with a sneer. Just the kind of boy he likes to break, riding them fast and hard until they're limp with relief that's never been so profound, before, too sex-muddled to object when Jack fingers them open and slick, sliding in to bodies that try to object, that _want_ to object.

Sometimes they cry when he makes them come.

No one says no to the Prince.

Right until this blond-haired man who looks like a lamb brought innocently to slaughter says, "Not interested. I'm not really sure why I was brought here, there's probably some mistake. I'll just, " he waves behind his shoulder, "go now." When the staring widens to include the bevy of beauties put on for a show that fools no one, he adds, "No, thank you?"

Suddenly, Jack is not sneering. Now he's _panting._

"There's a room," he says, licking lips gone dry. This boy, this haloed child is slender with youth, thick with strength, and his hands are strong where they lay against his thighs. Jack studies all of him, wanting and wanting because this he's never had before. Months of living with soldiers who worked for their muscles on fields that held no sophisticated equipment but that which killed, he'd wanted and never touched. Not his unit. Not _his_ men.

This one isn't his. Or at least isn't yet.

Thomasina, beautiful and his without her ever once having what she wants, slides up to the new boy and puts her breasts against his arm and chest, subtly moving him backwards. She coos at him, pretty words to befuddle the most resolute of men, perfume of exotic spices quickening any man's blood. Even Jack can respond to this attack. Sometimes in the dark of night in a bed too broad for its lone companion, he wishes that it would finish its spell.

But her brother is the one he wants more.

Regardless, she has the boy backed into a quiet room by now, the one Jack knows so well. There are few lights, just enough for Jack to see when the boy is pushed onto a sofa that could be called a bed, bouncing out a confused, "Wait."

"No," Jack says. "I don't want to wait."

Thomasina laughs in the darkness, gracefully allowing his take over. She likes to watch. "This is the prince, David. The Prince of Shiloh and beyond."

"I -- your highness, I -- "

Jack swallows the rest of the words before they leave poor David's mouth. There is trembling strength beneath him and it is only confusion that leaves him pliant. Jack can work with that. He's not strong, not like the men of his unit, not like the barrel chested strength that anchors a flimsy butterfly, not like David beneath him. But David is young, and confused, conditioned to respond to the word _Prince_ even as he's conditioned to arch into the heat that settles hard against his groin, pinning him down so Jack can scrap red, raw kisses into his neck, over his mouth so he can draw David in. They're rutting, by now, writhing in sync despite their clothes, David's confusion, because Jack knows how to make this good. He knows how to rock just there, the length of his cock over the head of David's, teasing him into a grunting shudder, shoulders heaving underneath his hands.

David kisses like bursting kernels of corn, almost too sweet and thick on his tongue.

"You want to be good for your Prince," Jack taunts and the shiver he receives is a direct score. Oh, this one will be sweet. This too-young soldier, practically faceless despite how Jack sucks on the point of his jaw, weak before the onslaught of royalty and hormones.

"I," David says.

Jack hand closes securely around David's cock, ripping the rest of his words away until he can do nothing but pant. "That's right," Jack purrs, sweaty hand slick over skin like sun-warmed velvet, throbbing lightly as it reaches up to meet his touch. "I can make you feel good."

It _is_ good, going so perfectly, when suddenly David's eyes open wide, reflecting nothing but glassy, sightless white as he looks directly (or so Jack thinks) at Jack.

"Yeah. I can."

And then _Jack_ is flat, breathless and his chest aching despite the softness of the sofa they're on. David is huge above him, dark shadows and eager kisses, hands fumbling Jack naked -- his shoes, where are they? He was wearing those -- fingers knowing as they slide slickly inside and Jack wants to argue. He does. This is nothing like it should be, no making them desperate before Jack lets them see him without pants, making them beg and promise before he slides down their thick cocks, controlling everything from his perch above their hips.

Jack's legs are in the air and he's gasping, hyperventilating, because David's fingers are thick and strange inside of him and they feel so good, making him melt in lust that tastes of saltwater, of sunshine. He hears his own breath rasping in his throat, can feel his sweat heavy on his skin, and oh, David's kissing him, losing the diffidence from before, taking his mouth as thoroughly as the fingers that take him inside out and oh, _oh_ the cock that fills him in one smooth thrust, balls against his own while both of them _keen._

David fucks like he's born to it.

The dim lighting paints him in streaks, colorless light and shadow, highlighting the breadth of his shoulders, the swell of chest chest, his abs. Jack stares at all of that, greedy, imprinting it so when his eyes finally close, squeezing tight as he's pounded again and again and again and _again_ , white-hot streaks of pleasure that make him feel weak, make him _like_ it. He studies David behind his eyes, marbled in his memory, while he's taken so thoroughly that he actually cries out as he comes, spasming around the cock that's harder than Shiloh's arching spire, thick enough that he feels split and used.

And David fucks him still.

When David finally comes, shifting out of that perfect, timeless rhythm into something far more human, more perfect, Jack hears himself sob. He's had men come in him before, enjoying the hesitancy they can never lose despite the mastery their actions imply.

He's never been filled before.

Jack opens red eyes to watch as David puts back on his shyness and diffidence, clothing himself with it even as he slips his cock free. He looks confused. Helpless. A puppy left in a foreign field, uncertain of which way to go, what new smells to sniff after.

Jack tries to move, to _regain_ , and David's hand flashes out, clamping on Jack's hip and forcing him still.

He turns to Thomasina, still moaning, fingers still moving. "Is he really the Prince?" he asks.

"Yes." Her breath hitches, but her eyes are clear and sincere. "He's really the Prince."

"Great. I'm probably in trouble, aren't I."

He says it with finality, but she just smiles, sharp as a blade. "He's not going to tell. Are you, my Prince?"

Jack humiliates himself forever by saying nothing, eyes downcast to hide from the answer.

"Especially if you take him again. Put him on his stomach and make him come without a touch again."

Jack has only enough time to think _traitor_ , before his belly rubs against sleek, soft fabric, cradling his dick in an awkward position as he's taken so smoothly, so completely and all he can do is moan and rock back for more.


End file.
